


Demons Don't Send Notes

by Magical_Bucket



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 5+1 Things, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Aziraphale and Crowley Through The Ages (Good Omens), Blood and Gore, Blood and Injury, Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Eventual Happy Ending, Happy Ending, He/Him Pronouns For Aziraphale (Good Omens), He/Him Pronouns For Crowley (Good Omens), Hell Doesn't Send Rude Notes, Hurt, Hurt Crowley, Hurt Crowley (Good Omens), Minor Original Character(s), Pining, Pining Crowley (Good Omens), Post-Canon, South Downs Cottage (Good Omens), Torture, Whipping, crowley has a soft spot for kids
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-15
Updated: 2020-03-15
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:48:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23152015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Magical_Bucket/pseuds/Magical_Bucket
Summary: from the wise words of a demon: "my lot don't send rude notes."What if Crowley knew that from experience? What if he got caught trying to do good, but managed to piss Hell off at the same time?-or-5 times Hell didn't send a rude note, and 1 time they did (and Aziraphale got to it first)
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 130





	1. Out of Eden

It had been a few months since the first humans were cast out of the Garden. A few months since Crawley had seen the foolish angel who gave his sword away to said humans, risking punishment to keep the humans safe. The serpent of Eden, Crawley, may have been the one responsible for the humans departure, but he still admired Aziraphale for helping them. Even more, he admired him for not smiting him on the spot, and being able to have a friendly conversation. In the few months since they met, Crawley had been going about his demonic life. 

Hell was quite happy with how the first temptation played out. They were so happy, not only did they award him accommodation, they also gave him a full time position on earth. Crawley set their expectations high, and in hindsight, that may have been a mistake. Needless to say, the time off didn’t last and it wasn’t long before a new assignment was given to him. 

The assignment was simple enough. Go to this house, tempt them into greed, yada yada. What wasn’t as easy for Crawley, was tempting a child to do it. As it turns out, the family he was meant to be tempting was more of a broken household. The Father had passed away from sickness, and while still in grieving, the mother succumbed to sickness as well. The mother's condition worsened to the point where she was unable to get out of bed, leaving her son, a boy no older than 4 or 5 to get enough food for the both of them. Originally, Crawley thought he could do it. He hyped himself up and prepared as much as demonly possible. He really did try. He did not. One look at the child's eyes and he was down for the count. How could Hell want to corrupt something so innocent? Then he realized, it was Hell, of course they would. Instead of tempting, the outcome turned out incredibly different.

Crawley helped the boy and his mother. He took food and medicine when they needed it, and even taught the boy while his mother took her time healing. Of course, he knew he couldn’t stay with the two forever, so once the mother was healed and he miracled them some extra food, he left them to go do something more nefarious. He submitted a report, and that was that. Or so he thought. 

Barely a week after Crawley had left, Hell had set up a meeting in the middle of the desert. That's how Crawley got to where he was now. Trudging through sand in the dead of night, looking for the meeting place. He saw the campfire first, and sauntered his way over. The demon however, saw him and turned to give Crawley his full attention. Hastur. Muted alarms started to go off in the back of his head. Hastur had been one of the most furious when he got the promotion, but he’d been to chicken to do anything about it in Hell. This wasn’t Hell. This was Earth, in the middle of the desert, with no one around for miles. 

“Hail Satan,” Came the raspy voice. 

“Hail Satan…” The fire was burning brightly, and Crawley could see better as he approached. Hastur was slightly slouched, standing in tattered clothing. Blond hair was sticking out in all random directions on top of his head, and slightly below that was his face. His face may have been the worst part. Hastur wasn’t scowling, frowning, or showing any sort of rage. Not even a ember of anger, which was incredibly odd for a demon, especially Hastur. Instead, a wide grin was there. This wasn’t the kind of grin that you might see on a child who was just handed an icecream cone, or a man who was just given a promotion. The grin Hastur wore was twisted in ill intent, and his dark eyes told a similar story. 

Crawley's internal alarms blared louder and louder as he got closer. A few feet in front closer. The meeting started by the two talking about what evil deeds they did that day, then the real discussion started. 

“Hell got your report from your recent assignment. They were quite happy with how it turned out.” Hasturs smirk had shrunk into a smirk, keeping Crawley guessing as to what would come next. “They were, until one of our spies came back with some interesting observations.” As the words left Hastur’s mouth, Crawley started cobbling together a lie convincing enough to get him out of this mess. Hastur didn’t even have to elaborate on what they saw. Crawley’s shift in expression was a dead giveaway he knew what they saw. “We’re demons Crawley. You know we aren’t supposed to be helping humans.” The words were practically spat out, like Hastur was lecturing a dumb child for the millionth time. 

“Yes, Yes. I know what I did could be seen as good, but it’s part of a bigger pla-” Crawley was quickly cut off by something colliding with his lower jaw. The initial surprise quickly subsided, and turned into pain. It took a second to realize he had been punched, and another second to realize he had lost his footing and was currently sprawled on the ground. He brought a hand out to where he was punched, rubbing the skin trying to soothe away the future bruising. He looked back up at Hastur. The Grin was back. 

“Hell doesn’t want your excuses Crawley. You couldn’t complete a simple assignment.” Another strike. This time it was a sandaled foot that collided to the underside of Crawley’s chin. He let the pain roll over him this time, not letting any pain show aside from a slight hiss. 

“They think you’ve gotten to high and mighty. They wanted to make sure you still knew your place. On the ground, crawling at your superior's feet, able to obey orders.” 

Ah, Crawley thought. So this is just a reminder. No, it wasn’t exactly a reminder. It was more of a warning. Hell was able to watch his moves, and if he tried to pull something like that again, they could do far worse. When no other blow came, Crawley propped himself up on his hand and stared up at the duke. Another mistake. Hastur took the chance to bring his foot down on Crawleys hand, effectively breaking plenty of the bones with nauseating crunches. The white hot pain shot up through his nerves, forcing a scream from the serpent's throat. 

“They’re willing to forgive you this once, but don’t let it happen again.” Hastur kept the hideous grin plastered on his face as he sunk back into the ground, leaving Crawley clutching his broken hand to his chest. He only allowed himself a few seconds to take a few deep breaths before getting up and walking back to his camp. He started thinking about the angel he met to get his mind off of the pain. He walked back, idly wondering what the angel was doing.


	2. Divinity's Mother

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley gets assigned to prevent the birth of Jesus. That didn't go as expected.

Crowley had changed his name. It was a recent development, and it was by no means a smooth transition, but he was now Crowley. He shed the name Crawley like a snake sheds its skin. Unfortunately, that wasn’t Crowley’s biggest concern right now. Heaven was planning something big, and who else would Hell choose to deal with it but the original tempter? Supposedly, there was a woman who would have god’s child. Hell wanted there not to be a gods child on earth, so Crowley was sent to the village to try to stop the child from coming to the world.

Crowley had decided to present as female to gain Mary’s trust. It had worked excellently. He did try to convince Mary to somehow get rid of the child, but neither of them could really figure out how to, and Mary actually wanted the child. Crowley figured that if he couldn’t convince her, he would just tempt her. That ‘temptation’ just turned into them getting into the habit of having ‘girls night’, and talking about getting ready for the baby. 

When the time came, Crowley wasn’t able to attend. Instead of being there, Hell had heard about his failure, and once again called him out to the middle of nowhere. It wasn’t the first meeting Hell had brought him in for since the Hastur incident, but it was the first that they called for him in the middle of nowhere. At least this time, he knew what they wanted him for so he could attempt to prepare to an extent. He showed up to the meeting spot, and Hastur was there again, but he wasn’t alone. 

Crowley tried to examine the situation, and thought it best to start with the unknown. The other Demon. Crowley didn’t know him, and by the looks of him, he didn’t want to. The Demon was tall, a few inches above him, with dirty brown hair that went down to his shoulders. The clothing was nothing impeccable, just a regular black outfit with a belt. Crowley's stomach dropped. The belt held a leather whip, attached to his hip. His eyes widened slightly and the panic alarms went off again, as he shifted his gaze to Hastur. The grin was back. He skipped the pleasantries this time. 

“It’s good to see you again Crawley. Allow me to introduce you to Sozraz. The higher ups pulled him right out of the deepest torture pits to see you.” at that, Sozraz gave a very large, toothy grin. It would have been a lot more intimidating, had it not been for the fact that nearly all the teeth were yellow and crooked. 

“It’s my displeasure to meet you, serpent.” Sozraz’s gruff voice spoke.

“Ngk.” is the only noise Crowley used to respond. He turned back to Hastur. “So what is it you want this time? I doubt this is a social call.” He didn’t want to admit to anything just yet, in case he could still get out of what he was about to endure. 

“They know you’ve failed the assignment Crawley. Hell isn't too happy about that. You were assigned to stop the child, but it’s already here. The baby’s healthy, and the mothers healthy. Even better, the sources say you’ve been helping her! Hell’s not happy.” Sozraz stalked behind him, and Crowley was ready for an attack. “You already got a warning, now Hell wants to make sure the message gets across.”

Crowley was about to ask what he meant, but he didn’t need to. Sozraz kicked out, and his leg made contact with the back of Crowley's knees. The serpent crumbled to the ground landing in on his hands and knees. He barely had time to process anything else before the demon behind him took a hold of his hair and pulled. Hard. he hoisted Crowley's head up, then most of his upper body so he was sitting on his knees. Crowley’s eyes quickly darted to the ground to avoid eye contact with Hastur. He didn’t try to struggle as the top of his clothing was pulled from his shoulders, exposing his back. Crowley tried to tune everything out, and focus on anything else. 

Crowley was shoved back to the ground on his knees and forearms as his thoughts drifted to Aziraphale. Aziraphale was a safe topic to think about in times of fear. The Angel in question had a safe, welcoming aura that Crowley was drawn to. Even in the worst times, just seeing the Principality ended up making him feel better. Thinking about him had the same effect. Crowley got lost in his thoughts, thinking about the few times he and Aziraphale had met up, most recently being around the time of the arc. He didn’t even hear the light noise of leather being unfurled into the dirt. 

Suddenly, Crowley was ripped from his thoughts with the sound of air being slashed through, directly followed by a searing pain covering his spine. Crowley tried to suck in a breath, but was cut off by his own scream that was torn out of his throat by another lash. Crowley gritted his teeth and clenched his fists into the earth as he did his best to endure. The whip was fast and unforgiving, ripping through skin leaving welts, blood, and bone in its wake. Crowley started to get dizzy, vision blurred with tears, and was close to collapsing before it stopped. Sozraz wound up the bloodied whip and stuck it back on his belt, then hastur came around to crowley’s side and kicked him in his stomach, sending him on to his side. 

“Well Crawley, I’d be more careful if I were you. Hell’s being quite forgiving, not demoting you. Keep up the good work.” Hastur chuckled and turned to leave, Sozraz following closely behind. They left Crowley laying there, covered in his own blood and sweat to heal himself like the last time. Crowley let himself stay there for awhile, slipping in and out from unconsciousness until most of the pain subsided. The final time he awoke, he got up and miracled his clothing back to rights, and took away the rest of the pain. 

Once he got back to his friends, he got to hold Jesus only after apologizing to Mary he missed it. He ended up being a friend of the family, and eventually showed him some of the greatest kingdoms in the world. As he watched Jesus grow up, and as he grew closer with Mary, he knew he could endure it again, and likely would if it meant them, and humans after them, could have a little bit of peace.


	3. Another Day, Another Plague

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The black death comes around and disturbs Crowley's sleep. Begins to think of Aziraphale more and more.

Neither Crowley or Aziraphale knew which side was responsible for the black death, but they could both agree it was horrible. At first, Crowley was content with staying in his house, sleeping. However, he kept waking up to the sound of screams and weeping. Even though there were no windows open, he could smell the blood and vomit. The death had a lingering effect with all of it. Those were only the horrors he didn’t have to have his eyes open to see. 

Everything got so much worse when he opened the window. The first thing to hit him full force was the smell. It was so much worse as it was carried in with the air into his lungs. The wails got louder, along with the coughing. Crowley nearly gaged at the intensity. Then there was the sight. Sick people everywhere. People suffering, children trying to play and ignore it all. People trying to stay away from it all, then there were the doctors. The Plague doctors were dressed in dark clothing, with large bird like masks covering their faces. Barely any skin was showing at all, but most importantly they were helping people. Crowley quickly got behind the idea, and went to join the fun. 

Crowley’s favorite part of the costume was the mask. The glass that was covering the eyes were too dark for the patients to see through, so Crowley didn’t have to worry about showing his eyes. He mostly worked on his own, performing small miracles here and there to heal those who were just diagnosed. Then there were the ones who were too far gone. Those were the ones who he would let say goodbye, before easing the pain as much as he could before convincing them to let go. It would have been emotionally taxing for a human, but he was a demon so he dealt with it. He tried to help where he could, even little things like soothing a child who just lost a parent, or clearing up a cough long enough for the person to sleep. He thought every little bit to help. 

The Plague did die off eventually, and Crowley was exhausted. All he really wanted to do was take a long nap. He was finally back at his home, the window was closed and the curtain was drawn, making the entire room dark. Perfect for a nap. So perfect, he didn’t even make it to his bed before he was hit in the back of the head, knocking him out cold. 

Crowley’s head was throbbing when he came to. The room was lit with candles, and the fireplace was burning. Hastur was sitting in front of it, holding a rod into it. Crowley tried to move, but to his horror, he was tied to the chair. That was when Hastur turned around. 

“Good morning Crawley. Enjoy your nap?” Hastur chuckled and spun the rod he was holding in the fire. Crowley could feel its warmth from where he was bound. He couldn’t tear his eyes from the rod, and tried to talk. 

“I’ve had better.” He did his best to push down the fear in his voice and replace it with reserved confidence. “To what do I owe the displeasure this time, Duke Hasture? Is this one of your infamous social calls? Though, I didn’t think you would be the bondage type.” Crowley tried to lighten up the situation, Hastur only lost the smirk and scowled at him. Crowley quickly fell out of the joking mood. “Ok, serious talk, what warrants knocking me out and tying me up in my own house?” Crowley was trying to calm himself down. These rare meetings had usually taken place in the middle of nowhere, far away from any people. He was hopeful that Hell had decided to be a little more forgiving this time, since they were in a town, but he was doubtful. 

“It’s come to Hell’s attention that you’ve been...helping the humans. They’re pissed off, Crawley. They worked hard to start the plague and get it right.” So Aziraphale was right. That whole mess was Hell’s doing. He'd probably end up buying dinner to tell him he was right. It was easier to think about Aziraphale, his angel, than what was about to happen to him. 

He ignored Hastur as he got up, holding the rod, coming over to Crowley and pulling the left side of his shirt down to the elbow. Crowley got a look at the rod. It was red hot at the end where it had been laying in the fire. The very end of it had been twisted, the words ‘DEMON’ written in some forgotten language. Crowley’s eyes widened and he did his best to push back against the chair, away from the hot iron. He began to struggle within the ropes, rubbing the skin that was there raw, but the lack of give made it impossible for escape. 

Hastur was silent as he pressed the iron over the place a human would have a heart. Crowley bit his lip so hard, he drew blood. His body jerked in any way possible, trying to get away from the scorching heat, drawing blood from his wrists as he tugged against them. He was able to open his eyes, and directed his stare at Hastur. The bastard was smiling, happy to be branding him like this. Most of the heat had subsided, but the pain was still strong. Crowley had decided to put on a brave front, and close his eyes. He began to think of Aziraphale again. Thinking about what he was doing during the plague, where they could go for the next meal, the next time they can go to St. James, and these thoughts continued into blissful sleep. 

By the time Crowley woke up he was untied, on the floor, and the shirt still pulled down to his shoulder. This time, Crowley didn’t dwell on it. He got up and pulled his shirt back up as he walked over to his desk. He pulled out a piece of parchment along with the quill and ink, and started writing.

‘Dear Aziraphale;’


	4. Not the Usual Assignment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The arrangement is in full effect! Crowley takes over a large job for his favorite angel, gets caught.

Aziraphale had no idea how much of an understatement, ‘My lot doesn't send rude notes’ was. Crowley prefered it that way. He wanted to keep his angel and Hell as far as possible. The arrangement, on the other hand, he was perfectly fine with. The arrangement is exactly how he found himself in America in 1863, to help persuade save owners to free them. Crowley went undercover since he didn’t feel like getting a permanent place in America. 

He met quite a few interesting people while he was there, but he knew there would be literal hell to pay if he was caught. He tried to stick to the shadows as much as possible to avoid being spotted by any spies that may also be lurking.

His favorite person was Abraham. Good lot Abraham was. Crowley ended up spending a lot of time around Abraham. He was a smart man, and quite interesting to talk to. If Crowley were to guess, he would have said he would influence him the most, even going as far as to staying with him for a very short amount of time.

Most of his time there was uneventful. It was near discorperation by boredom, but after a few weeks, it was over. Getting back to London was even worse. It was a boat ride back, meaning a long boring ride back. Crowley mostly stayed isolated from the humans in his cabin, thinking about Aziraphale. The Angel was crossing his thoughts more and more these days. He was always considering what the angel wanted, even if he wasn’t there. Not only that, but sometimes he would see something and his angel would just pop up again. It was getting harder for the demon to force him out of his head, so having nothing to do, just let the thoughts and fantasies stay. Those thoughts ended up getting Crowley into a dream-like state, which he stayed in until the journey was over. 

After Crowley wrote to Aziraphale saying he was back, he went to a pub. There was nothing really spectacular about it, but it had alcohol, so it would suffice. Crowley stayed for a few hours until he was not quite completely sloshed.

He eventually decided to get up and leave. As he was walking back home, he was pulled into a nearby alley way. The next thing Crowley knew, he was being shoved against a brick wall, one hand against his throat. At first, Crowley thought he was being mugged. When he finally focused on the face, his heart dropped. 

“Hastur,” Crowley grumbled. It was a shame, the night really had started off quite nicely. “You found me quite quickly this time,” He knew from experience there was no denying it, or talking his way out of it. The only other option was to face the music. 

“Not even going to try and deny it for once? Maybe you are learning Crawley.” Hastur let out a low, dark chuckle. Before quickly flipping him around so Crowley’s face was shoved into the brick wall. The blond demon was standing behind him, holding his hands behind his back with one of his. The other hand that wasn’t pinning him, was pressed against the center of his back, pushing between the space where his wings would be.  
“Bring out your wings, Crawley.” As Hastur pressed harder, Crowley visibly paled. Surely he wouldn’t actually...right? Crowley was in full panic mode now, struggling around and trying his hardest to get away. His physical body was one thing, but his wings? Would Hell be that cruel?

As he had learned, yes, Hell had done much worse in the past. Hastur pressed harder, working his hand in an inhuman way between the bones, dislocating them. Crowley had to relent, his wings bursting from the hidden plane and into the physical one. Crowley tried to throw his head back, hopefully to knock Hastur off, but instead only lead to Hastur moving out of the way, grabbing a hold of his red hair, knocking his head right back into the wall. The world was blacking around the edges as he stilled. He was already drunk, sobering up now would only mean he would feel the full extent of the pain. Being drunk would also mean he would be more focused on Hastur, when he could be thinking of something more pleasant. Like Aziraphale. 

His thoughts drifted back to the angel as Hastur took a hold of the wings. He ignored the rough hold as he imagined what it would be like if the principality had gone drinking with him. As Hastur snapped the bones in his wings like toothpicks, he thought about what kind of blessings he would be up to, or maybe he was at a restaurant (if any were even open at this hour). Hastur began to pluck feathers, leaving blood in their wake. He pulled out fist fuls at a time, the wings themselves fluttering slightly as they tried to fly away. Crowley couldn’t be bothered to stop thinking about his angel’s smile, the little facial expressions when he was deep in thought, or even the body language he used in their conversation. 

Crowley barely noticed when it stopped. Hastur probably said something like he always did after these little sessions, then left Crowley to his own devices. Crowley stared down at the feathers that came from his wings. He saw the blood that was mixed in with it. He took a deep breath and stumbled out of the alley, still off balance from the head bash and alcohol. He couldn’t exactly put his wings away, so he went to the only place he could think of. 

He went to Aziraphale, and of course the blessed angel worried about him. The state of his wings was horrendous after all, but all it took was For Crowley to say he didn't want to talk about it, and the topic was dropped. After all, he didn’t want his angel to know Hells punishment policy, and he would make sure the secret didn’t slip.


	5. Post Nap-Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You didn't honestly think a demon could get away with ditching work for a century, did you?

After the argument about the holy water, Crowley decided to take a long nap. He didn’t necessarily intend on sleeping the entire century away, but he certainly wasn’t complaining. As soon as he got up, he did some major research, and as it turned out, a lot had happened. The most notable out of all of them, was the Great War. THe next thing he looked at, was all the notes Hell sent, giving him assignments, summons, reports, and a whole lot more. The most surprising thing about it was the fact that they hadn’t sent anyone topside to wake him. It was surprising, yet also relieving. Crowley didn’t think he could handle Hastur if he had just been woken up. 

Nothing that good lasts forever.

It wasn’t long before Crowley was contacted again. He wished he could just ignore the summons, to go back to sleep and not deal with Hell or anything, but there was no use putting off the inevitable. He noted the summons, and burned the rest of the notices. 

One thing he couldn’t stop thinking about was Aziraphale. Crowley had accepted long ago that the angel would be a permanent resident of his thoughts, and if he was in a particularly good mood, he would admit that he didn’t entirely mind it, especially now. Anything was better than the feeling of dread he felt thinking about the upcoming meeting. 

Before the meeting, Crowley spent some time updating his style. Nothing too big, just a haircut and wardrobe upgrade, even some new sunglasses. By the time it was time for the meeting, Crowley looked like he belonged in the twentieth century. This time, they met at a scrap yard. It wasn’t entirely in the middle of nowhere like the first two times, but it also wasn’t completely in public like the last two. Once again, it was only Hastur. By this point, it was understood that there were no pleasantries like the first time. 

“Crawley. We were starting to think you took a bath in a vat of holy water.” Hastur looked a little disappointed at that. Crowley didn’t react to it at all. He wanted to go back to his place and get back out into the world. There was still a lingering fatigue, and he really wasn’t in the mood for joking around. He just wanted to get this meeting over with so he could go home and talk to Aziraphale. Even if he could get out of this alive, he didn’t think Aziraphale would want to talk to him. The fight was bad enough, then he would have to both apologize for the fight, as well as disappearing for the century. Maybe another century long nap would make him feel somewhat better. 

He was snapped out of his thoughts when he was shoved to the dirt. Closed his eyes as Hastur plucked the shades off his face, and crushed them before tossing them with the other junk surrounding them. Hastur gave a few good kicks to the serpent's head, moving down to the upper torso to make sure he stayed down. Crowley had tried to sit up, but got another kick that landed to the nose, breaking it. Blood began to flow down Crowley's face, so he figured he would bide his time until he could have a chance of escape. Hastur squatted down beside Crowley's face as he brought out a twisted dagger.

“It really is a shame you’ve insisted on fighting back lately. You know something Crawley? Even after these meetings, you’re still one of their favorite agents. You just need to be taken down a peg.” The knife was placed under Crowley’s chin, forcing his head up to see an equally twisted smile. This is why he wanted the holy water. He knew this would happen again, but he hoped he would have a better way of defending himself. The knife dug into his skin harder, tearing through the flesh and drawing blood. 

Hastur got back up to his feet, and Crowley decided to strike. He grabbed a hold of the blonds ankles, and pulled. The other demon fell to the ground with a thud, and Crowley took the chance to scramble to his feet. Hastur wasn’t down for long. He managed to get to his hands and knees, launching forward and grabbing hold of Crowley's legs. He used the dagger to stab at Crowley's ankles and feet, trying to im-mobolize him for the time being. Hastur got back to his feet, feeling quite more pissed off. He glared down at the serpent squirming at his feet, still trying to get away. It was a shame really. Hastur would have kept him awake to feel the pain live as it happened. This time however, Crowley was being too difficult for his liking. His solution to this situation was bringing the hilt of the knife to the snake’s temple, sending him into unconsciousness.

When Crowley awoke, the pain hit him harder than a speeding train. His entire nervous system felt like it was alight with sensation. The side of his head was throbbing, and it only became worse as he opened his eyes. He went to sit up letting the pain shoot up his spine and settling as a groan in his throat. It was then Crowley realized he was laying in a puddle. He looked behind him to see how bad it was, expecting to see water. What he saw instead of a clear liquid, was dark red blood. His blood. He looked at the rest of his corporation to see how bad the wound was, and everything in his body went numb. His sleeves were rolled up, displaying the words freshly carved into his flesh. Unlike the brand on his chest, these were in english. There were more running down his torso and legs from what he could see. From what he could see, they were only singular words like ‘DEMON’, ‘SNAKE’, ‘SLOTH’, and ‘TEMPTER’, along with other variations and supposedly ‘nasty’ words. The wounds had been decently easy to hide before, but these could be more difficult. He wondered how his angel would react. Would he care, or would the two ever talk again long enough for him to find out? 

Crowley stopped himself before he could get into those thoughts. He ended up miracling the pain away, and making sure everything was covered before trudging home.


	6. +1: Sorry, My Angel Said No...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale doesn't want to lose Crowley, so when Hell comes calling he responds for him.

The apocalypse had come and gone, and the world's favorite angel and demon duo had taken a well deserved retirement and moved to the South Downs together. Everything was looking ok for them, and even though another shoe had to drop, they were finally happy. They even managed to get their feelings put together enough to confess. The confessions may not have been the most romantic things in the world, but they were making up for it in their own way. No matter, they had gotten together, and they were free to be together.

It had been a little over a year since the trials, and Aziraphale was sitting on their couch, crowley leaning against his shoulder sound asleep. There was a blanket wrapped around their shoulders to keep them warm in the cold night. Aziraphale picked up his cup and sipped some tea, before putting down his book and directing his gaze to Crowley. He let a fond smile come to his face as he ran his fingers through red curls. 

Suddenly, a note appeared on the desk they shared. Naturally, Aziraphale got curious, so he set his book and tea to the side, and gently laid Crowley down on the couch, making sure he wouldn't just fall off. The angel quietly made his way over to the desk, and picked up the note. At first, he assumed it was heaven because Hell supposedly didn’t send rude notes, but the handwriting was in no way heavenly. Aziraphale could hardly read the chicken scratched paper, but he doubted it was for accommodation. For the most part, it just looked like a regular old summons. Aziraphale didn’t like that. He and Crowley had earned their freedom, and he was concerned about what they would do if his love attended the meeting. 

The angel had made his choice. He walked back over to the couch and grabbed the candle he was using as a reading light. Crowley had first protested the use of candles in the cottage, but eventually warmed up to the idea after constant persuading from Aziraphale. He picked up the note and let the fire on the candle jump to light the paper corner. He watched as it burned, and made sure it was completely destroyed. He set the candle back down, and picked up his book as Crowley stirred. 

“Angel?” He was quite groggy when he was just waking up. Aziraphale found it endearing. 

“Right here darling,” he spoke gently as he picked up his book. Crowley looked up at the principality, eyes lidded and a soft smile plastered on him. It was a peaceful look, one Aziraphale wasn’t keen on losing anytime soon. “It’s quite late, how about we go up to bed?” Crowley got up and stretched.

“Thought you’d never ask, angel.” The demon set the blanket back onto the couch.  
“I’ll meet you up there.” he kissed Aziraphale on the cheek, before disappearing up the stairs to go to their shared room. Aziraphale smiled as he picked up the candle, and blew out the light.


End file.
